


for your sake I hope heaven and hell

by kakikaeru



Series: the ocean breathes salty [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, I am sorry I didn't get them to a seaside resort but I am ONLY ONE WOMAN, M/M, Steward Katsuki Yuuri, and it occurs offscreen, and then NO CRAVATS, but not a MAJOR character death, going full Bronte, going to TOWN!, going to the CONTINENT for ONE'S HEALTH!, it feels like a right of passage in this fandom to put the boys in cravats, public AND private balls!, rolling moors!, social class structure!, there is quite obviously a character death, this regency au has everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:55:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23587234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakikaeru/pseuds/kakikaeru
Summary: Victor watched Mr. Katsuki in the dark, his long fingers flexing on the brim of his hat, his clothes and inky black hair plastered by the rain to his too-thin frame. He was white as a sheet, cheeks hollowed, lips tight, as though the rain, and not circumstance, had washed all colour and softness from him. There was water beading on his spectacles, obscuring the exhaustion in his dark eyes."Yuuri...""My wife is dying."Mr. Nikiforov, Duke of Cumberland, first meets Mr. Katsuki, assistant steward to the Giacometti Estate, in Kent.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: the ocean breathes salty [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1133099
Comments: 15
Kudos: 92





	for your sake I hope heaven and hell

It was storming, and fairly badly. Victor sipped his claret and stepped back from the window, letting the curtain drop against the windowpane. At this time of evening it was too dark to see the extensive grounds, stretching out from the house in the fashionably natural way gardeners favored now. Victor had left his to grow quite wild in the years he'd been away; there was a clear and definitive line between the edge of the Nikiforov property and the carefully tended estate next door that was helpfully obscured by the heavy slap of rain against the glass.

Victor turned from the window with a sigh, soft enough that his guests for the evening did not notice. A small gathering, given the storm and the circumstances.

"Mr. Nikiforov, will you not join us?"

The eldest Pinsley daughter could be best described as fine; she had a sloping nose, bright, pale eyes, and auburn ringlets arranged on either side of her smooth forehead. She had all the arch and cunning wiles of her sex, and Victor pitied her, for the world which had derived their necessity in her, and for the way she had set about to use them this evening on so unobtainable a prize as himself.

"I think not," he said, smile gentle – for he always endeavoured to be as gentle as possible in his rejections, he was not cruel – "You are all so charmingly grouped, and from here I can best admire the comfortable tableau you make."

This appeared to please Miss Pinsley, even though the ruddy firelight bleached her flushed cheeks, her lips pressed into a smile that made it apparent. Her mother, sitting beside her, gave Mr. Pinsley a knowing look, but he was reading the newspaper, and completely unaware. Robbed of her husband's approval, she turned to Victor.

"Perhaps the tableau shall become more permanent soon, is that not so, Mr. Nikiforov?"

Next to her, Mr. Winham chortled in a good natured way. He was a good parson, kind and fair, concerned more for the wellbeing of his charges than their apparent holiness, as few men of his cloth tended to be these days. In essence, he was a true Christian, and he attempted to come to Victor's rescue.

"Mr. Nikiforov has a fine eye for aesthetics, he sees beauty in a far more refined way than you or I."

Victor lifted his wine in a silent toast, offering the guests seated by the fire a jaunty wink, hiding his grimace in his glass. He had come to forget, lately, how much he positively resented the duties of entertaining. But it had been easier here, in his return to Fawe Park, easier with –

A loud, insistent thumping interrupted them all, coming from the other side of the house. All heads snapped towards the sound, which seemed to be emanating from the receiving area above the lyme walk.

"Good heavens," exclaimed Miss Pinsely, one hand pressed to her forehead in a semblance of distress. "Is there someone at the door at this hour?"

Victor set his glass on a side table and was in the process of crossing the room to step out into the hall and enquire around the noise when his valet knocked on the door and bowed himself inside.

"Your pardon," he said, eyes on the carpet, "but the doctor has been called for."

The proper response caught, unsaid, in Victor's throat. Fortunately, Mr. Pinsley rose to his feet before the valet had even finished, the newspaper clearly not as engrossing as he had made it previously seem. "Mr. Winham, can you escort the ladies home? The carriage will convey you back to the parsonage, it’s a long way out of your way."

"Of course sir. I shall be ready, if required."

His women thus accounted for, Mr. Pinsley clapped Victor on the shoulder. They went through the door together, followed the maid with her candle and the valet's even steps through the house, each one sounding louder and louder in Victor's ears until they were in the front vestibule, the sole lamp there illuminating a figure that was dripping onto the marble tile of the floor.

He had come himself, instead of sending a servant.

"I'll need my bag," Mr. Pinsley said, the request half lost to Victor's surprised exclamation, fiercely whispered, for he had not meant to say it out loud.

"Did you _walk_ here?"

Mr. Katsuki turned his hat in his hands and said nothing, choosing instead to bow stiffly in response, his face a mask that was attempting to conceal his discomfort, urgency and panic. Of course he had walked across his grounds and through the tangle of Victor's; it was the most direct route, and he'd never send a servant out in such a storm.

"Bess, please take Mr. Pinsely to the cloak room for his things," Victor ordered his maid, and then took down the lantern and handed it to his valet.

"Go down to the stables and tell them to have the Orlovs saddled." They were good, dependable horses, fast, bred to pull the Troika of his mother's homeland. Victor currently had only the pair at the estate, the third was in London, but he did not have need of all three this evening. He would certainly not be wanted where the doctor was going.

Victor's servants were well trained and professional, they moved to comply with his wishes immediately, which meant that it took only moments for the vestibule to clear. Victor watched Mr. Katsuki in the dark, his long fingers flexing on the brim of his hat, his clothes and inky black hair plastered by the rain to his too-thin frame. He was white as a sheet, cheeks hollowed, lips tight, as though the rain, and not circumstance, had washed all colour and softness from him. There was water beading on his spectacles, obscuring the exhaustion in his dark eyes.

"Yuuri..."

"My wife is dying."

He felt the words like a physical blow, not just because of their meaning, or the tired sharpness with which they were spoken, but the way they brusquely cut into the heart of his own shame, however unintentional. Mr. Katsuki had finally come back to Fawe Park, he was standing in the vestibule and watching Victor with his deep, unreadable eyes, swaying slightly on his feet. It was going to be impossible to persuade him not to go back out into the storm. Victor's eyes stole over him, hungry, searching for signs of illness or discomfort, unsure of what he should say when the last conversation they'd shared prior had so deeply grieved them both.

"What can I do?" Victor asked, after abandoning the slightly hysterical notion that he ought to ask after Miss Katsuki.

Mr. Katsuki simply shook his head, eyes falling to the tiles beneath his feet. "Just be yourself," he whispered.

"Of course." The back of Victor's throat hurt, and the corners of his eyes.

"Thank you."

He longed to say more, to step towards Yuuri and possibly press his hand, but Mr. Pinsley returned at that moment, an oiled great coat over his arm. Victor watched Mr. Katsuki step out into the night, and closed his eyes as the door shut behind him, to preserve his profile against his vision.

* * *

Victor had known Charlotte Milling in his youth – with their estates so close and both the apparent heir of each, it was a particular fantasy of the neighbourhood to speak of how one day the estates might come together under a common name. But Charlotte grew up flighty, ridiculous, a bit of a scandalous flirt, entirely too indulged by her father and unchecked by her mother in a way that made Victor and his parents uncomfortable. The talk of their union became one-sided long before Victor learned to be honest with his own heart.

Then there was the business of the estate itself, poorly mismanaged in a way that left the tenants wretched and the inhabitants of Cardew unsustainably addicted to largesse. There was nothing Victor could do except accompany his mother on visits around the parish to distribute small comforts, and to sit tight-lipped and enduring at the Milling's table. As soon as he was able, Victor left the neighbourhood. He went south first, to London and then abroad, to Paris and Geneva and Rome. He spent time with his mother's people, where she had returned when her health grew poor. He came back to England older, wiser, and suddenly an eligible bachelor, and Victor hid from the women who would claim him by making ample use of his friend Christophe's townhouse in London, and sprawling estate in Kent.

It was in Kent that he met Mr. Katsuki, newly apprenticed to Christophe's steward Celestino, but Mr. Katsuki hardly needed the supervision. He was a marvel, efficient and reforming, benevolent or firm with servants and tenants as the need arose. He was the son of inn-keepers, and he had an elder sister, and this family had poured everything into his education, into the hopes that his keen intellect wouldn't stagnate, that he would be made to feel useful and engaged. Mr. Katsuki rewarded them by becoming a fine scholar, he read extensively on a diverse array of subjects, he spoke four languages, and his conversation, once persuaded, was more stimulating than anyone else's Victor had ever had the pleasure of partaking in. He was modest of his achievements and intellect, and honest regarding his debt to his family; he constantly strove to improve himself, and this drive was as endearing as it was breathtaking – Mr. Katsuki determined was a sublime creature to behold.

He was shy and serious until he suddenly wasn't, mercurial changes that kept Victor guessing, delighted, craving his companionship in a way that was not wholly innocent and would very likely bring him trouble. Mr. Katsuki was a servant, and Victor a Peer, and there were limits to their friendship dictated by propriety. Victor had no hints, no inclinations, nothing to make him believe Mr. Katsuki might also follow his persuasions, other than the blind eye he turned to the more scandalous soirees at the Giacometti estate. Victor told himself that the tight criteria that allowed him to interact with Mr. Katsuki were enough, and buried his other longings.

Before Victor could be tempted to endanger himself, his mother died. He returned to Russia to settle her affairs and become master of his own heart, and when Victor came back to London the gossip on everyone's lips reported that Charlotte Milling, long endured in town as a young woman of improper morals, had been married. It was tittered behind every silken glove: when it became obvious no gentleman of sense would have her, her father, desperate and succumbing to his gout, had foisted her off on some unsuspecting commoner, with a promise to settle the debts of his parent's inn. Victor wrote to Christophe, and when the answer came, he went north, back to the seat of his family, the place of his childhood. There had been an urgency then, to his movements. He'd believed himself guilty of not being present to warn or help his friend.

When Victor came to Northumberland, Mr. Katsuki had been in the neighbourhood for just over six months. As he rode past orderly fields and the construction of new tenant homes, Victor had felt something pulling in his ribs. He went to the assembly and Mr. Katsuki was not there, but everyone had something pleasant to say about him – how he was so polite, how he was turning that eyesore of Cardew into a proper estate, how he was patient and pragmatic in his attentions to his wife, how it was _such_ a shame he had not come tonight, for he was a _superb dancer_ – and Victor knew all these things, knew Mr. Katsuki was fond of music and dogs and preferred smaller, intimate parties to large social gatherings. He went home that night and could not understand his feeling of loss. Victor walked across the park the next day and Makkachin bowled Mr. Katsuki over in the lane, and his laughter and enthusiasm at finding them both living next door made Victor forget about it entirely.

There was an ease to Mr. Katsuki of Cardew House, perhaps spurred by the knowledge of his parents being financially safe, and having something to dedicate his faculties to. He was devoted to the betterment of the estate he held in trust for his future offspring, and his eager interest in the wellbeing of his tenants endeared him to the entire neighbourhood. It was completely forgotten that Mr. Katsuki's parents were in trade, he became a gentleman worth knowing, one who threw such intimate and exclusive dinner parties that invitations were prized commodities. It was glossed over that since Mr. Katsuki had stripped the rooms of their expensive furnishings to finance improvements to the farm, the house was cold and sometimes drafty, that there were few candles lit and the food was plain and nourishing. It mattered not, because the company and conversation of Mr. Katsuki, his good manners and humbleness regarding his home, outshone those inadequacies.

Victor was always invited, he was told expressly that he ought to come when he wasn't invited, and he delighted in surprising Mr. Katsuki, out in the field or coming from the stables or in his quiet back study. He was immensely pleased in turn when Mr. Katsuki would rap his knuckles on the parlour window at Fawe Park and smile at Victor through the glass, beckoning him to either come out or unlock the side door. He grew to love the echoing walls of his childhood home, which had so often felt like a large and elaborate prison. Under Mr. Katsuki's uplifting presence, the library became cozy, the dinning room warm, the grounds refreshing. The hosting of the country acquaintances he'd spurned in his youth was bearable when he could look up from the whist table and catch Mr. Katsuki's sparkling eye, their lips curling up in mutual mirth, lost to the rest of the dinner guests.

Victor was quickly introduced to Miss Katsuki when she came north to visit, and while her initial reception of him was cool, it was not permanent. Mari Katsuki had grown up as her brother's protector, and once she had established that Victor's esteem for him was not put upon, she was willing to allow Victor into her circle. He grew to enjoy an intimacy of friendship with both siblings that he treasured. To most, Miss Katsuki was stand-offish, and Mr. Katsuki painfully shy, but it was merely a constraint of their upbringing and only for outsiders. It was a constant reward to him that Miss Katsuki invited him for tea, or that when the ladies slipped from the table to the sitting room after dinner, Mr. Katsuki would pour them both a brandy, and indulge Victor in allowing him the use of his given name.

It was the other occupant of the household who grated on him; having to endure Charlotte's deteriorating opinion of her husband, who treated her gently, but not with the passion she wished. Charlotte had been eager to accept Mr. Katsuki; he was handsome, young, agreeable, and free of vices – she had made herself believe her marriage was to be the culmination of a sweeping romance, like the silly novels she had her maid read to her. She failed entirely to understand the wealth she held by becoming attached to so fine a character as her husband, because he did not act she thought he ought.

Mr. Katsuki was not prone to overt displays of affection, he was not tactile, and his subdued manner of revealing his emotions was lost on Charlotte, who attempted at every turn to goad him into either public declarations of his heart, or jealous rages. Victor hated her, but his good breeding prevented him from attempts to check her; Mr. Katsuki withstood her moods with such grace that Victor would have been ashamed to lose his temper. He bore it until Charlotte tried to pull him into the breakfast room one evening and kiss him, and Victor shook her so violently her hair came loose and he stormed from the house without giving Mr. Katsuki an explanation.

He was remorseful immediately but could not go back, and Victor spent the night tossing fruitlessly in his bed as sleep evaded him and Makkachin grew more and more fretful. He was convinced he would lose Mr. Katsuki's friendship forever, and so it was a complete surprise when he appeared in Victor's sitting room the following morning, twisting his gloves in his hands and stammering an apology that drew all the air from Victor's lungs. He couldn't help himself, he placed his hands on Mr. Katsuki's shoulders, the first and only time he had ever touched him.

"You need never apologize to me," Victor said, earnest and aching and entirely too aware that he was lost.

Mr. Katsuki awkwardly patted his wrist, stepped out of Victor's hold, and the matter was put aside. Victor was inducted into Mr. Katsuki's confidence about the loveless nature of his marriage, and they never spoke of it again.

From then on, Victor was no longer invited to Cardew to dine with the Katsuki's alone, and his interactions with Mr. Katsuki were limited to the confines of Fawe Park, and entirely at Mr. Katsuki's discretion. He regretted the distance this caused in his relationship with Miss Katsuki, and when they met in public he endeavoured to breach the gap by being more attentive. He stood up with her to dance, he sat by her at tea. When the Katsuki's came down to London he had the pleasure of securing tickets for them to the ballet, and he escorted Miss Katsuki there on his arm and was eternally grateful that she sat quietly beside him and allowed him to watch her brother watch the performance and did not at all feel neglected.

Miss Katsuki was not as fair as her brother, she had a wider build and lighter hair, but they shared the same expressive dark eyes and beaming smile. She was pretty, a few years older than Victor, and unattached. His attentions to her did not go unnoticed by gossips, and Victor began to fear that perhaps he was becoming entangled. Miss Katsuki was perfectly sensible, and she did not harbour any feelings for Victor that would have made her accept him, but often such things were decided upon by the general populace, and didn’t concern the principal parties' feelings at all. He worried over putting Mr. Katsuki in a difficult position, of dooming Miss Katsuki to a marriage that would be comfortable but devoid of feeling, even as the thought, selfishly, came to Victor that should he marry Miss Katsuki, he could have him close, have him always, that they could be _family_ …

As Victor made himself slowly wretched, Charlotte was devising a doom of her own, which she unleashed on them all quite unexpectedly by running off in the night with a captain from the legion. Victor was made privy to this unfortunate secret only because he had called early on the Katsukis in town, and finding them at breakfast, joined them in time for the maid to deliver the news that her mistress was missing. Charlotte had left Mr. Katsuki a note; menacing and terrible, blaming him for leaving her no choice but to pursue love where it would be given to her, since he had been so frigid with his charms. Mr. Katsuki's face went white and Victor took the letter from his numb fingers and burned it in the fireplace. The Katsuki's departed for Northumberland that morning; Miss Katsuki had thought it best and Victor had agreed. It didn't stop him from moping around Christophe's house until his friend threw up his hands and told Victor to go _home, dammit_ , and be with the people he cared about.

If one word could have been used to describe Mr. Katsuki's conduct following the indiscretion of his wife, Victor would have chosen brave. He threw himself into the maintenance of the estate with a drive before unseen, and continued to accept invitations in the neighbourhood despite the obvious discomfort he experienced at being the object of gossip. Ever stalwart, Mr. Katsuki merely said Charlotte had gone to visit relatives in Scotland, and endured the whispers and well-meaning advice as best he could. He grew pale and wan – his sister confided to Victor that he was not sleeping or eating well – stretching himself even thinner in his determination that his tenants should not suffer. He cut Charlotte off from the funds of the estate swiftly and immediately, but continued to deposit her pin money.

In all things, Victor did his best to help. Their fields were of a geography that allowed Victor to persuade Mr. Katsuki that it would be more practical to merge their forces. He sent Miss Katsuki gifts from his storehouse, because Mr. Katsuki's guilt at wasting them encouraged him to eat. He rode over the property with Makkachin bounding beside him, and pretended to be aghast when the poodle tackled Mr. Katsuki to the turf, drawing from him a rare and beautiful smile. Each one made Victor ache, deeper and deeper until every moment in Mr. Katsuki's presence was a sublime agony. He lived half in torment and half in ecstasy, spurning himself for wishing to be closer, and yet unable to look away.

None of them had wished to go to the Walcott's Ball, but Mr. Katsuki had been adamant his sister should not miss the entertainment, and Victor was helpless, he would go wherever Mr. Katsuki wished. Charlotte had been gone nine months, but recently spotted in town. Gossip followed Mr. Katsuki from room to room, rudely obvious and not in the least bit hushed, and he grew withdrawn and skittish until at last Victor could not stand it and took hold of his elbow and excused them both to a quiet, darkened room, where only a small fire was burning, and the silence was deafening and welcome.

"Please allow me to take you home," he said, and Mr. Katsuki blinked at him behind his spectacles, bewildered.

"But… Mari, and the dancing… I could not ask you to abandon either on my account–"

"Hang Mari!" Victor snapped, and he grabbed Mr. Katsuki by the arms for only the second time in his life, desperate that he should understand. "If you think your sister or I derive any pleasure whatsoever from seeing you so miserable you are delusional–"

"I don't pretend anything of the sort!"

Mr. Katsuki was angry, and Victor was disgustingly relieved at having stirred any sort of emotion in him at all, he had been so defeated. He took hold of Victor's elbows as though adamant Victor would hear him.

"I cannot abide this – this _situation_ from removing all pleasantness from the world. I will not! I won't shut up my sister in the house with my failures, I won't deny you the pleasure of her company just because… because…"

"Yuuri."

The water pooling behind Mr. Katsuki's spectacles threatened to spill over, and Victor was terrible at handling tears, he didn't know what to do except what he shouldn't, what he desperately wished – to fold Mr. Katsuki into his embrace and hold him there – to be a comfort and support in this an all his sorrows.

Victor's hands seemed to develop a mind of their own, they were holding Mr. Katsuki's without him ever making a decision to do so.

"Yuuri," he said again, heart thick in his voice, "Mari is not the Katsuki for whom I think and plan."

It hung there, fragile and vulnerable, a flame sputtered to life and longing for air to let it burn. Mr. Katsuki's eyes were very round, and the tears slipped from them to streak silently down his face.

" _Sir_ ," and there it was, with that one shocked syllable Victor felt the flame go out, and his heart die with it. Mr. Katsuki pressed his lips together, and looked away, down at the floor or perhaps at their hands, still clasped. The firelight was catching upon his wedding ring, a brand that stood between them like a wall.

"Victor, you can't."

He exhaled almost a sob, frustrated. "But I do."

"You can't… I…" his hands were suddenly firm against Victor's and then let go. "Sir, do not misunderstand the position I am in, the impropriety within my marriage is – regardless of my wife's actions… I…"

"No please," Victor begged. "I am not attempting to take advantage of anything. I would never so disrespect you!"

"I don't understand," Mr. Katsuki gasped. His breathing was becoming erratic, and he dug his fingers into his cravat, as though it were choking him. "Your friendship sir, it has – it has..."

Mr. Katsuki made a desperate noise, it broke Victor's heart. "Yuuri, I am in love with you, please –"

"I _can't_ ," he pleaded, neither an admission or a denial. "I can't."

He took a step back and Victor followed, and they both jumped when a knock rapped upon the door.

"Yuuri-kun?"

"Ahhh, Mari... Mari-nee-chan." Mr. Katsuki swiped urgently at his cheeks with the back of his hand. His sister was looking at them both from the doorway, unsure of what she'd interrupted, caution on her face. Mr. Katsuki gave her a wet smile. "Forgive me, I – I am not feeling well."

"I'll ask for the carriage," Miss Katsuki promised quickly. Her brother tucked her hand into his arm and gave it a resounding squeeze, and she curtsied politely to Victor, her face unreadable. "Good night, Mr. Nikiforov."

Victor went back to the party in a daze, and he replayed the scene over and over in his head, desperate for a different outcome until he arrived the next day at Cardew. He knew that it was his turn to make amends, that he owed Mr. Katsuki the deepest of apologies – not for his feelings, but for his lack of discretion in revealing them, when Mr. Katsuki was already so vulnerable – and he had believed it in his power to do so until the maid returned to the parlour, apologetic, to say both her master and his sister were unwell, and that Victor should refrain from calling until Mr. Katsuki could send a card up to Fawe Park. She offered him refreshments and Victor declined her the trouble, she saw him out of the house, and the door closed with such heavy finality that Victor scarcely made it to the edge of the property before he collapsed in the hedgerow and surrendered tearfully to the weight of his mistakes.

He wrote Mr. Katsuki one letter, to which no response came. He wrote to Christophe, whose response was immediate and lengthy, at turns both remonstrative and commiserating, inviting him to forget his sorrows in a tour of the continent together. Victor wrote back to accept it, he walked to the post office with every intention of sending the letter, but on his way he was overtaken by Mr. Pinsely, who had been summoned to Cardew with great emergency. Charlotte had returned, alone, and ill.

The official diagnosis was a fever, but it didn't stop the rampant rumor that consumption was poisoning Mr. Katsuki's marriage bed. Victor dismissed two kitchen maids who he overheard whispering about the bloody handkerchiefs being burned at the neighbouring estate. He remained in a state of helplessness over whatever was befalling the residents of Cardew until the housekeeper was driven over in the farm cart to enquire if Mr. Nikiforov had any citrus fruits he could spare. Fawe Park was renowned for its orangerie, and Victor was desperate enough to consider it an olive branch. He sent her back with three crates and a crock of his best honey, along with the entreaty that if anything further should be needed, anything at all, that they would please ask. Miss Katsuki herself came the next time, tired and on foot, carrying a wiggling basket over her arm. Victor installed her comfortably in the best corner of the sofa in the parlour and rang for tea. He pointedly did not ask about Mr. Katsuki, though he longed for news of him; Victor had taken to hosting the doctor and the parson, the only people permitted within Cardew since Charlotte's renewed residency, just so he could have some scrap of news.

Mari opened her basket and settled a small poodle on the sofa between them, who immediately climbed into Victor's lap, whining for attention. Victor obliged immediately, and Miss Katsuki's lips quirked into a worn out smile, watching Makkachin cross the floor, tail wagging, to greet the little dog.

"Would it trouble you, to look after her for now?" She asked. "Yuuri is constantly at her bedside, and Vicchan is neglected."

"Of course," Victor agreed, as Vicchan turned three times to lie in Victor's lap, her little nose sniffing at Makkachin experimentally.

"Thank you. Yuuri said he wouldn't trust anyone else with her, this will be a great relief to him."

Victor set his hand carefully on Vicchan's back and pressed his lips together. "Mari…"

"He's…" she sighed heavily. "She doesn't deserve it but he dotes on her constantly, an attentive nurse. I fear he will make himself sick."

"If there is anything I can do–"

"You must wait for him to come to you," Miss Katsuki advised.

And now, Mr. Katsuki had come to Fawe Park, had stood in the vestibule and told Victor he wished only for Victor to be himself.

* * *

The news came early in the morning, along with the first frost. Mrs. Charlotte Katsuki, nee Milling, had passed in the night. Mr. Winham was sorry to report that it had not been peaceful, that she had thrashed about and cried out for her husband, who held her hand and whispered tender reassurances in an attempt to curb her fear. Mr. Katsuki was himself exhausted, he had collapsed shortly after and been delivered to his bed, on strict orders from the doctor that he should rest and recover his strength. Victor sent over four fine cuts of beef for broth, and Miss Katsuki sent back a note of gratitude, asking that he also send Vicchan back with the servant.

For a week there was no news from Cardew, until the funeral. Victor hadn't felt it proper that he walk in the procession, but he watched Mr. Katsuki from his family pew, observing how gaunt he had become, the dark circles beneath his eyes, how the stark mourning he wore made him seem even less present, like a ghost.

Distant relatives of Charlotte's had turned up, crowding the Milling's pew for the funeral; timely, Victor thought rather morbidly, as the ownership of the estate fell into limbo. Mr. Katsuki was not a Milling by birth, his possession of Cardew and the house in town had been contingent on his marriage, and he had no heir. The relatives had been unhappy to find the house, once full of decades of gaudy furnishings, plate and other such aspects, stripped and spartan. They didn't care in the least that the estate itself was beginning to provide for all of its residents in a way that allowed them all comfort, only that there was nothing liquid – everything was tied up in the land without a penny free for them to take away. Miss Katsuki had sent Victor a note, greatly distressed, that she feared they would start sniffing around her parents inn, and Victor discretely contacted his solicitor and sent her his reassurance. The money bequeathed to Mr. Katsuki had been given as a condition of his marrying Charlotte, and as he had done so, could not be taken away.

The tenuous ownership of Cardew also meant that the Katsuki siblings could not stay there, until it was legally determined to belong to someone, no one was its master. Victor had been ready, more than ready, to offer his house as refuge. Mr. Katsuki was still so unwell, scarcely leaving his bed, and Victor would care for him, would make Yuuri's every need the purpose of his existence, but when he called upon Miss Katsuki to offer, she had been so pleased to tell him about how she was taking Mr. Katsuki home, back to Kent and the familiar comfort of their parent's inn, that the offer died on his lips.

As Victor watched Mr. Katsuki in church, he wished him a good journey, a safe recovery, a soft turning over of time, so that the trials he had endured in Northumberland might ease into something less painful. On the steps of the church he bid Mr. Katsuki goodbye, and pressed his hand once, startled slightly by the coolness of the ring on his third finger, a barrier Victor could never overcome. He was determined to have Mr. Katsuki's final memory of him be well, he smiled despite feeling like his insides were slowly turning first to ice and then to stone. Mr. Katsuki lifted his other hand to press over both of Victor's own and said nothing, merely looked into Victor's eyes until he let go.

There was nothing for Victor in the north after that, and he could not go where he most expressly wished to be. He had the house closed up with specific instructions on the help that should be provided next door should the tenants require assistance, and left for the continent. He spent the winter in St. Petersburg with his cousins, skating on the Neva and letting the air nip at the tips of his ears, medicating himself with sharp vodka and hot baked potatoes, and repressing his melancholy behind a veneer of good manners. When the land thawed, he went south to Italy, touring through it's duchy-states with no purpose or plan, simply going where his feet wished to take him. In a small gothic town, south of Florence, he came back to his lodging to find an elegant card, it's gilt script spelling out Christophe's name.

He met him under the canopied patio of a coffee shop, overlooking the scalloped central square. Christophe ordered them the small, bitter cups of dark liquid favored in the country, and they sat back to people watch, though Christophe was dressed so elegantly as to be the most interesting creature in the square, and Victor, with his pale, sharp looks, cut an impressive figure across the table from him. They spoke of nothing at all, and Victor had only just summoned the manners to enquire as to why Christophe was in Italy when a beautiful young Italian woman came carefully into the bottom of the square, her hand threaded through the arm of a figure that made Victor's breath catch.

He was dressed in half-mourning now, muted greys and lilacs that washed out the beautiful contrast of his colouring, and did no justice to his large, wine-coloured eyes. Even before he had been master of Cardew, he'd always been proud of his two jewel-toned coats and the myriad of waistcoats he possessed, all of exotic oriental silk, the fabric of which had been family heirlooms. To see him without them, a seeming shade beneath the wide brim of his round-topped straw hat, made a slow ache unfurl beneath Victor's ribs.

"The doctor recommended," Christophe said, seemingly apropos of nothing, though he knew exactly where Victor's stare was directed, "that a drier, warmer climate would best improve his health. His sister wrote to Celestino, but of course you know I cannot keep my nose out of anything. I was planning to come to Italy anyway, and so I conveyed him to Celestino's cousins. You see they've been taking good care of him, though poor Miss Crispino can't seem to understand his aversion to cheese."

The couple made their way slowly up the scalloped incline of the square, and disappeared down an archway several feet to the left of where Victor and Christophe were sitting. Their sedate pace was worrying, and when Victor could no longer make out the shape of them, he turned his gaze back to Christophe, who was looking upon him with such reassurance and kindness in his face, that Victor coloured and dropped his eyes to his coffee immediately. 

"He's quite recovered," Christophe said kindly. "It won't be long before he returns home I daresay. It's only that I wish to tarry here, and I feel his sister would prefer he not make the journey alone." 

"Chris," Victor warned.

Christophe took an elegant sip from his tiny cup, and set it delicately back on the petite saucer. "I'll call again, before I leave for Florence. It's been ever so good to see you, mon cher." 

Victor had contracted his rooms for another week, and informed Christophe of this before they parted. He had no reason to doubt his friend would pay him a visit, and he was grateful, however deep his agony went, to know that Mr. Katsuki was faring well. In the interest of diverting himself from painful memories, Victor went the next day on an extensive walking tour of a nearby monastery, which took him from his lodging until well after dinner. Tired and worn down emotionally, he slept late and ordered breakfast to his rooms, and when he came down, dressed finally for the day and with the intention to take a walk around the city wall, the landlady informed him that a French gentleman was waiting for him in the parlour.

It was nearing midday, and Christophe was always obliged to swindle a free meal. Victor handed Makkachin's leash off with instructions to the landlady to take her upstairs, and went into the parlour prepared to call his friend to shame. He had the breath stolen from him, once again, by a familiar figure waiting beside the mantle. He'd forgotten; all his fine schooling, and of course in the overlap of their diverse languages, they'd often conversed in two.

"Mr. Katsuki."

If the pain of those familiar syllables on his tongue showed, Mr. Katsuki was kind enough to ignore it. He bowed very graciously, as a servant would to a Peer.

"Sir."

They stood in silence for what felt like an epoch; empires rose and crumbled. Victor watched, helpless, as a beautiful rosy flush spread across Mr. Katsuki's perfect cheekbones.

"What brings you to Italy at this time of year–" Victor began, at the same time Mr. Katsuki said "I hope you'll forgive my forwardness in coming–" and both cut off at the same time, Mr. Katsuki to look away into the fire.

Victor set his gloves and hat upon the letter-writing table and took two steps forward. "There is nothing to forgive," he said quietly.

Mr. Katsuki nodded, but did not turn. "I have come to Italy for my health," he admitted stiffly.

"You look well," Victor said, and then immediately wanted to take it back. Of all the idiotic things to say! "That is," he added, "Italy seems to agree with you. I hope, sir, that you are in good health."

"Yes," Mr. Katsuki said, and looked from the fire to the general direction of Victor's left shoulder. "I am, thank you."

"And Miss Katsuki, your parents? Are they also in good health?"

"They are well, thank you."

"And Vicchan?"

A small smile graced Mr. Katsuki's lips. "She is here with me, and quite well."

"I have Makka, upstairs. Shall I… I could fetch her down?"

"No, please, don't trouble yourself."

Silence fell between them again, for Victor knew he could not express the sentiment that it was impossible for Mr. Katsuki to trouble him without causing them both pain. At last, Mr. Katsuki looked at him, his face bearing the tight smile he wore when he was sad, and endeavouring to hide it.

"I've been told the estate is to be sold," he said. "Cardew and all its property. The family wishes to split the assets in cash."

"Yes," Victor agreed carefully. "I'd heard news as such."

Mr. Katsuki drew in a shaking breath, his fists clenched in the fabric at the hem of his pewter coloured, linen coat. "Will you not tell me the truth?"

Victor was gentle, but not always kind. His position in life meant he did not often have to suffer challenges, but to be poked by the very object of his longing, the pain he carried in his heart, was too much. Anger flared hot within him.

"The truth?" He spat incredulously. "Shall I tell you, sir, everything you wish most expressly not to hear from me; that even parted forever I cannot bear the thought of another family at Cardew, another master in its fields? That I so long for even the smallest remembrance of you, I have gone and purchased the estate so carefully attended by your hands? Is this what you wish to know, Yuuri?"

" _Sir_." Wide tears were gathering in Mr. Katsuki's eyes, though he bore a countenance of frustration. "You cannot, still–"

"I did not think you so selfish, Mr. Katsuki." Victor's hands shook, and he was mortified to discover his own eyes were wet. "I never believed you could be this cruel."

"I–I did not mean–"

"Yes, well," Victor sighed. He felt at once impossibly tired. "Perhaps it is best for me to take my leave."

"No!"

To Victor's great surprise, Mr. Katsuki strode forwards, raised his hand, and then dropped it in an aborted gesture.

"No," he entreated, "please, you have misunderstood. I merely… I came today because I'd hoped to appeal to you to keep on the staff and tenants, I have no other motives for wishing to hear the truth, and certainly have no wish to cause you pain!"

"It is," Victor smiled sadly, "perhaps too late for that."

"I am a servant," he whispered. "I have nothing, no connections, no fortune – I shall have to find work, when I return. There is so little to recommend me to you."

Victor stared at him, aghast.

"It will be impossible for us to meet, I know that, but, I am happy." Tears spilled from Mr. Katsuki's eyes as he smiled. "To have known you, even in the darkest time of my life; I am happy. For a time we were not unequal, and should I ever once again be worthy of your attention… I hope… I hope you will allow me to write to you. I hope, no, you _must_ excuse me, for telling you now, how ardently I have always loved you."

"What…Yuuri?!"

"I will work every day," he swore, pressing a hand above the bridge of his spectacles, to hide his crying. "I will endeavour to someday be worthy of your affection, and to erase the hurt I have caused you, by loving you when I was not free to."

"You are ridiculous," Victor gasped, crying and laughing at the same time, shaking, with relief and euphoria and affronted to no end. "Yuuri, what on earth has possessed you to think you must do anything? _Write_ to me?"

"I must make my way–"

"Good God!" Victor was entirely laughing now. "If you want to make your own way, then say you will come to Cardew. Say you will oversee its lands and its tenants and every evening you will dine with me at Fawe Park, and read to me before bed. You will go _nowhere_ , sir, if it takes you away from me again." 

He expected him to argue, to turn stubborn and fiery in the way Victor so adored, but instead Yuuri bit his lip, his cheeks and ears beautifully rosy. "Truly?" he whispered. "Even now, when I have so hurt you – when I am nothing, you still find yourself able to care for me?"

"Katsuki Yuuri," Victor said thickly, "I _love_ you. Then, now, forever. Please, do me the honour of returning home with me."

It was the first time of their acquaintance that Yuuri ever touched him of his own accord; he reached forward to take Victor's hand, and pressed it firmly between his own. "Victor!"

"Please say you will. I have been wretched, without you."

Yuuri raised Victor's hand to his lips, and pressed an ardent kiss to his knuckles. "Yes," he breathed against Victor's fingers. "Yes, Victor, I will."

Victor shook with emotion. He allowed himself to step closer, warning quietly, "If you do not allow me to embrace you, immediately, I will be forced to commit some violence to the furniture."

"I should like very much," Yuuri said with a shaky, tremulous laugh, "for you to embrace me as often as you like."

* * *

Victor walked up the lane, a ledger book tucked under one arm. The light rain of the morning had given way to a crisp cool autumn sunshine, sparkling in the wet grass and heath, and rendering the countryside into vibrant yellows. He let himself in at the side gate and nodded to Tom and the few men he was overseeing, who were that afternoon engaged in digging up the cherry saplings to the east of the old house, for transplant to Fawe Park's morning garden.

Only the housekeeper and two maids remained in residence, and Victor saw neither as he made his way along the central hallway to the back of the house. His cozy little study had been the only room Yuuri had wished to keep intact in the renovations; the remainder of Cardew's ground floor had been remade into a cheerful parlour for receiving guests, a small kitchen that catered to his needs for tea and the occasional meal on-site, and a few guest rooms. The entirety of the second storey, formerly private bedrooms full of bad memories, Victor had converted into a hall for dancing. It was the jewel of the neighbourhood, and often in use for balls both private and public, for grand assemblies and quiet, lazy afternoons where the only dancers were just they two.

Yuuri was comfortably installed in his favorite armchair by the fire, wearing the quilted pelisse he called a hanten and no cravat. He was reading a novel in cyrillic and had a dictionary open on his lap; there was a pencil tucked behind his ear which Victor knew he was using to underline the parts he couldn't translate, for Victor to explain later.

"What are you reading, lyubov moya?" He called softly, which roused both dogs from their bed by the fire to come and greet him.

"Ah, finished with the solicitor?" Yuuri tucked his books away, but before he could get up Victor walked forwards to put the ledger in his hand.

"Mm, you were right, the man at Estmend is stealing."

Yuuri sniffed in distaste. "I am sorry to have been right."

"Fortunately for me," Victor smiled and leaned down to kiss the top of Yuuri's head, "I have a capable man at Cardew to check my other ledgers with."

"What will you do now?" Yuuri tilted his head back to look up at him, blinking in thought. "It's so late in the year, but I can write to Celestino. He may know of someone suitable."

"Well," Victor said, "Estmend is in Sussex. Less than fifty miles from where Yutopia is situated. And an easy distance from town..."

"Victor," Yuuri warned, his lips tugging into a small smile. "I have said it would not be prudent for me to accompany you to the season."

"No indeed, but I have need of a steward in Sussex, you see."

Yuuri gave him a look that suggested he found Victor entirely hopeless; he tugged upon Victor's wrist until he obliged him by sitting down on the chair upon his lap.

"You will scandalize the maid again," Victor smiled.

"Hmm. She is used to it. Those not used to it, however, will be the staff and servants of Estmend." Yuuri wound his arms around Victor's waist. "And I cannot trust either of us to be at all discrete."

"I should hope not," Victor laughed, running a finger along the soft curve of Yuuri's cheek. "And so perhaps I'll have to summon my steward to town. Perhaps Christophe will have a matter at his estate, of which Celestino must ask the talented Mr. Katsuki to visit and see to. Who knows what might happen."

"I see you have this quite planned!"

Victor set his cheek upon the top of Yuuri's head. "I was not entirely alone in my scheme. Mari did suggest, in her last letter, that if I was to be so extensively traveling between Sussex and town, that I ought to ensure I hired rooms in a respectable inn."

"She is shameless!" Yuuri laughed into his chest. "Do not let her charge you a penny!"

"Then will you come, darling?" Victor leaned back to look at him. "You know I like to have you near. A winter without you will be torture."

"I am at you service, sir," Yuuri smiled. "A winter without you would also be unbearable."

"Good!" And Victor leaned in again, taking Yuuri's precious face into his hands, and kissed him.

He was rather very fond of kissing his Mr. Katsuki, an exercise he indulged in whenever possible. Victor was also fond of giving Yuuri the space to feel useful, and challenged, and to make use of his keen intellect. Left to his own devices, he would have installed Yuuri at Fawe Park, fed him exotic fruits and purchased him fine books, outfitted him in as many beautiful waistcoats as Yuuri should have leave to wish for. But Yuuri was happiest with his hands in the fields, best with his mind exercising its faculties, and took great pride in a job well achieved. Estmend was only the beginning of Victor's plans; Yuuri had talked on many occasions about the way in which Victor's extensive property could not only be each sufficient, but the surplus reorganized in support of the larger whole. Someday, and soon, Yuuri would oversee the abundance of Victor's wealth, his knowledge of game and soil and good management leaving its stamp all over the country. Victor was going to follow along on his coattails as he rode all over England, leaving improvements in his wake, and when Yuuri finally let him, Victor would put Yuuri's salary into Cardew, and make him once more the gentleman he was in all but name. A man not only worthy to stand beside him – for he was that already – but one the world would recognize as well.

Victor pressed one final kiss to the corner of Yuuri's mouth, and then another to the third finger of his right hand, where a plain gold band rested.

"Is this a bad time," he asked, "to tell you I have already booked a box at the ballet for the whole season?"

"Impossible," Yuuri scoffed, taking up Victor's hand, where the twin to his own ring sat upon Victor's finger, and giving it a fond squeeze. "Whatever am I to do with such a man!"

"Let him love you," Victor said primly, for he'd let Yuuri win the argument about the opera for just this loophole to be available to him.

The look in Yuuri's eyes was fond. He held open Victor's hand, and kissed his palm. "Mm," he agreed, "and love him in return."

**Author's Note:**

> In honour of no less than five (5!) separate people sending me the regency heroine social distancing meme, I dug this long suffering WIP out of the archives. It's a bit of how the sausage is made; I always start my work with a very stylistic plot outline, and that's all most of this story is, with a beginning and ending tacked on for I guess... dramatic Bronte-esque effect? I never quite got around to writing the sweeping dark romance this deserved, but hopefully this bit of silliness distracts you for a time. Stay safe, and stay well chickadees!


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